4—Oklahoma City （Larinda’s Bus）
“How could this happen?!” I shriek for the third time.
I still haven’t received an answer I can accept and have no problem shrieking until I do.
“Larry, please, it’s gonna be fine. Here, have a cucumber almond,” Steve says, holding out the container of pouches.
“I don’t want a cucumber almond! I want to know why the heck the entire world knows I’m engaged except for me.”
“Larinda, please calm down,” Rena says through the screen. The backdrop of her fancy office at the Lakebend Records headquarters in LA looks like it was designed solely for video conferences. Only a person on the other side of her screen could appreciate the artistic skyline of succulents on the shelf behind her. The one with the pink flower on top is the only thing I’m enjoying about this conversation.
“The whole world doesn’t know. Just a few members of Jarvis’ camp,” she says.
“And everyone at Lakebend, apparently!”
“And everyone at Lakebend.”
“And my own freaking manager!” I scowl at Mae’s square on my screen.
“And Mae. It’s going to be wonderful. You’ll see. We have it all arranged,” Rena assures me. “Jarvis will propose at the end of your set tonight. Try to cry, if possible. We already have the press release and your first appearance as an engaged couple lined up. We’ll make sure the media team is prepped so we can capture the rapturous moment from multiple angles. All you have to do is cry and say yes. Every detail has been worked out.”
“Except for the fact that I don’t want to marry him!”
Silence settles over the group, and I have hope that my position is finally sinking in. That hope fades when Rena’s expression hardens.
“Larinda, we talked about this. You wanted to go in a different direction with your music, and we agreed on the condition that you leave the marketing to us. Critics love your new work, but sales and streams are nowhere near what we wanted. We have to do something to spark interest.”
“By forcing me to marry someone?”
“No one is saying you’re actually going to marry him,” Mae cuts in, ever the peacekeeper. “Just say yes for now and we’ll figure out how to break you up after the tour. No big deal.”
Easy for her to say. She didn’t just learn she was the center of an evil faux wedding plot. Also, thanks for rubbing my low numbers in my face. Funny how I finally get taken seriously as an artist and lose the interest of the masses.
“We’re sorry you found out this way, but we thought you’d be happy,” Rena says.
“Happy? Why would I be happy?”
Steve squeezes my arm, and I tug it away.
So help me if he suggests one more dang almond.
“You’ve always wanted a fairy-tale wedding, right? You talk about it all the time in the interviews.”
“Because you tell me to!”
“Oh! What about staging some photos at a bridal shop at one of your stops on tour? Maybe even try on a few dresses?” Mae’s giant smile means she clearly didn’t hear what she just said.
“His numbers are through the roof right now,” Rena adds. “It’s the perfect time to hitch your horse to his wagon.”
“I think it’s the other way around,” Mae says.
“What is?” Rena asks.
“The hitching. The wagon goes to the horse. Not the horse to the wagon.”
“What? That doesn’t make sense.”
“It does in the context of nineteenth-century pioneer logistics.”
“Wait, isn’t the horse supposed to be drinking something?” Steve asks.
“Drinking what?” Rena says.
“Water, I think,” Steve replies.
“No. The horse doesn’t drink the water,” Mae cuts in. “You lead it to the water but it doesn’t drink. That’s the whole point of the analogy.”
“Idiom,” Rena corrects.
“Same thing.”
“It’s not.”
“What even is a horse, though, when you think about it?” Steve muses.
Ah! How is this helping anything?!
I clench my fists, having no idea what to do. This is absurd. This is…
Exactly what we’ve been doing for the last five years since Jarvis and I started playing this media game to enhance our careers.
I sensed their confusion even before the horse debate. Of course they don’t understand why I’m putting up a fight about this engagement stunt when several of our biggest ploys over the years were my idea. They especially don’t understand why I’d resist when I need to boost my profile more than ever.
But things are different now. I don’t know why, but what felt necessary for my career all these years, now feels icky. I can’t imagine looking Jarvis in the eye and saying I’m going to marry him, even as a charade.
“Where’s this sudden opposition coming from?” Rena asks. Guess they resolved the horse-wagon issue. I’m not entirely clear what that argument was about. “Are you romantically involved with someone else?”
A cold trickle moves through me as soulful green eyes flash through my brain.
A smile that makes my heart burst.
Creative genius that gives me chills.
Is that what my reluctance is about? Can’t be. My crush on Val wouldn’t interfere with my career. Nothing has ever come between me and my success. Since day one I was willing to do whatever it took as long as no one else was hurt.
But suddenly, I’m not okay with it. Suddenly, the prospect of pretending to love someone leaves a sick feeling in my stomach even worse than the prospect of cucumber-flavored almonds.
“Larinda. Are you involved with someone?” Rena repeats.
“What? No. Of course not.”
“Good. Because that’s a horse we can all agree on. We need to be very careful how we manage the narrative of your love life, especially now. It’s central to your music and image. We don’t want another DJ Master Klau$ situation.”
Is my ex-producer ex on the agenda for every single meeting?
“Rena is right,” Mae says. “And after the Brighthouse gaming disaster, we can’t afford another PR mess.”
Oh great. Let’s throw that corporate sponsorship fiasco in the dumpster fire as well.
Yes. It was a disaster, and also the most bittersweet publicity event in the history of publicity events. Nothing went right that day. Everything blew up. But last year’s huge mess also gave me one of my closest friends in Nash Ellis, who in turn brought Val into my life. I can’t imagine this past year without my producer. I can’t even imagine this past breakfast without him.
And we’ve gone full circle.
“So, just to confirm, you are not involved with anyone?” Rena asks in a firm tone, making it clear there’s only one right answer.
“I’m not.”
I mean, it’s not really a lie. Wantingwhat you can’t have doesn’t count in the game of love.
Ooh, nice. Gotta remember that line for later.
“Great. So, it’s settled? Because I have to run,” Rena says.
“What? No. I?—”
“It’s going to be a beautiful moment. Historic, even. You’ll see,” Mae assures me. “Thanks, Rena. We’ll be in touch.”
“Hold on. I never said?—”
“Remember to cry,” Rena says as her screen goes dark.
If this actually happens, that won’t be a problem. I already feel the heaviness of tears building in my chest.
“I don’t want to do this. Please pull the plug,” I tell Mae, my voice trembling.
Her smile sags into a frown. “I don’t understand. What’s going on? This isn’t like you. You know we’re in a precarious position right now. If you want to keep creative control of your music, you’re going to have to give a little somewhere else.”
“I get that, but what they’re asking is too much. This joint tour is stressful enough. I don’t want to deal with an engagement as well.”
That was a good coverup, right?
“Okay, but?—”
“Mae, I’m telling you. You need to stop this. I’m not doing it.”
Mae’s eyes grow wide through the screen. Even Steve tenses at my stern command. Have I ever stood up for myself before? Probably not. At least, not when it mattered, but it’s my life, my career, and if I don’t want to be engaged, I shouldn’t have to be engaged. I’m tired of obeying orders. I’ve been doing what I was told for as long as I can remember. I didn’t even know I was capable of thinking for myself until Val came into my life and challenged me creatively. I’ve loved every second of exploring my art with him this past year, so maybe it’s time to explore my person as well.
Leave it to Val to make me brave even when he’s not here.
“Okay, well, I’ll reach out to the McKinnley camp and see what I can do,” Mae says in a cool voice. She’s mad but so what? She works for me, not the other way around. I have to remember that. I’m a person, not a commodity no matter how much they try to reduce me to charts and graphs.
“But, Larinda,” she continues in a grave tone. “Even if I express your resistance to the plan, I can’t guarantee Jarvis won’t go through with it. You know how he is.”
An unapologetic narcissist? Yeah, I know. The whole world does.
“Then I’ll talk to him directly. He wanted to meet this afternoon, probably about this. It’s the perfect opportunity to tell him not to do it.”
“Larry… I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Steve says. “Telling him not to do something is basically asking him to do it.”
“Steve’s right,” Bruce says. He’s still here? “Jarvis hates the word ‘no.’ Confronting him could backfire.”
I cross my arms and glare at the three traitors who are supposed to be on my side. “I guarantee it won’t backfire as much as if I turn down his pretend proposal in front of the entire world.”
“You wouldn’t,” Mae gasps.
“Watch me,” I say. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do and a show to prepare for.”
Plus, I’m hungry and will scream if I have to eat almonds for another meal.
“Fine. Then, I’ll be in touch,” Mae grumbles.
“Fantastic. Have a lovely day.”
I close my laptop and pull in a shaky breath.
“Larinda—”
“Thank you for your concern, gentlemen, but would you please give me some privacy? I have a lot to process before tonight’s show and not much time to do it.”
Bruce returns a stiff nod. “Of course. I have to check on the set construction and merch table, anyway. Oh, plus there’s a catering mix-up related to that brunch at our Dallas stop and the issue of where to put the four extra crewmembers in Pittsburgh.”
“And I have… walking,” Steve says.
I return a tight smile. “Sounds good.”
They peek back several times on their way to the door, but I busy myself with looking busy so they don’t stop and make me actually busy.
Once I’m alone, I release a long exhale, drop to the couch, and text Val.
Val
Larinda: We need to talk.
No shit.
I stare at the text for several seconds, not sure how to respond. On the one hand, her engagement to her longtime revolving-door boyfriend is none of my business. On the other hand, it’s none of my business.
On no hands is Larinda Scott’s romantic life my business. If anything, as someone who has a financial and career stake in her success, I should be supportive of any development that will contribute to that end. There’s no question an explosive headline to kick off an explosive tour will be, well, explosive.
I’m just hurt that I had to hear it from the Duluth Aquarium’s biggest fan instead of her. Yep, that’s definitely the only reason for the pain in my chest.
Sure. Where do you want to meet?I type back.
Larinda: Can you come to my bus? Everyone’s gone now.
Everyone. I’m not even part of “everyone,” apparently.
Of course not. You’re just a coworker. She owes you nothing.
I’m probably being extra sensitive because Larinda’s engagement wasn’t the first bomb to drop on me before 9AM today. Prior to breakfast wedding drama, I woke up to an even bigger blow: an apology and dinner invitation from my parents. After recovering from the initial shock, I immediately messaged my sister, Paige, for a debriefing session. Since she hasn’t responded yet, zero debriefing has been done.
One might be forgiven for wondering why a dinner invitation from one’s parents would be in the same gut-punch category as finding out the woman you have feelings for is going to marry someone you thought she didn’t even like. It makes more sense when you know that the last time I saw my parents was when they extorted me for thirty thousand dollars after legally disowning me.
They’ve been awful my whole life, and nothing but despicable since I dropped out of college more than five years ago. Every one of our rare encounters has been hostile and hurtful. As the official disappointment of the family, I haven’t received a single shred of support from them for as long as I can remember. They’ve made it no secret that I’m a failure in every sense of the word. In fact, stuffed somewhere in a box in my closet is a packet of notarized papers served by courier that declare me not their son in the eyes of the government. The whole thing was so ludicrous, I’ve never formally reacted to that soap-worthy gesture.
And then out of nowhere…
Dearest Perceval,
How to begin. You will no doubt find this particular electronical mail delivery letter perplexing as we have not corresponded in quite some time. Our history has been strenuous, to say the least, and we would understand if you chose not to peruse this correspondence in its entirety. It would be especially comprehensible if you chose not to respond to this belated attempt at reconciliation. We hold a sliver of hope, however, that you might find it in your magnanimous heart to take pity on we, your parents, and deign to join us for a meal in the municipality of Pittsburgh, in the state of Pennsylvania. We have reason to believe you will be in that region of the United States of America in less than a week’s time. Should you be so inclined to allow us this honor, please respond to this message and provide us with an ounce of supreme relief.
Yours,
Mummy and Papa
Now, let’s pretend for a second that this email was written in actual words people use and not an inexplicable attempt to revive nineteenth-century allegorical prose—it still wouldn’t make any sense.
My parents are apologizing? (Sort of.) I’ve never heard them apologize to anyone for anything, least of all me. (I’ve also never heard them refer to themselves as “Mummy and Papa” but I suppose that fits our new narrative that we now live in a time before the abbreviation “U.S.A.” made the rounds in popular linguistics.)
The point is, today has been a hard day. The last thing I want to do right now isvisit Larinda on her bus to discuss her eternal love for a guy who thinks cauliflower is broccoli that’s gone bad.
So, of course I type back, Sure. Be there in 5.
Yeah, who am I kidding? I will always want to see her and listen to whatever she wants to discuss, even if it’s her love for another man. I just enjoy being around her, and this past year, I’ve realized it’s even more important than that. I need to be around her. She makes me laugh and brightens my world in a way that will make it impossible to go back to the morose existence I inhabited before she burst into my life. So yes, even if she comes with an irritating accessory in the form of a pretentious country singer who has a standing weekly hair-frosting appointment, I will still want to work with her and remain friends. This is also why I need to convince her that’s possible because I’m not in love with her.
After making some excuse about an emergency BPM change on one of our new tracks, I cross the parking lot to her bus just a few minutes later.
“Hey,” she says with a weak smile.
“Hey,” I reply as the door closes behind me.
“Thanks for coming.”
“Of course.”
I climb the stairs and follow her past the driver’s empty seat to the main lounge area of the bus. She drops to the plush pink couch lining the right wall. More seating juts out toward the center to create almost an L-shape. Her bedroom in the back is barely visible through an open door straight ahead, and the granite countertops on the kitchenette to the left sparkle like they’ve never been used. Every time I’m here, I can’t help but think this place is nicer than any hotel room I’ve ever been in—probably bigger too.
“Almonds?” she asks, holding out a bowl of assorted packets.
The first one I see says “Fruit Punch,” and I swear the one below it says “Peanut.”
Peanut-flavored almonds?
“No, thanks.”
She sits nearby and pulls her leg beneath her to face me. “Sorry about this morning. That must have been…”
She shudders, which is a pretty accurate description of my morning, actually.
“Yeah. It was… a lot. Um, congratulations on your engagement, I guess. I’m sure you’ll be happy. Jarvis is… Jarvis.”
Okay, so I’m a terrible liar.
Her eyes go wide, then narrow. “Perceval Andrews, are you seriously trying to placate me right now?”
Really terrible, apparently.
“Fine,” I sigh out. “I don’t get it, Larinda. I mean, I do, but I don’t. The guy has hurt you so many times. Betrayed you personally and professionally. He’s so far beneath you as a human being, it would be an insult to put you on the same scale. Plus, how could you not tell me?”
She crosses her arms. Her eyes are doing this weird squinty thing that I think is supposed to be a glare? She sucks at being mean. Her “terrifying death stare” is most people’s stuck-in-traffic look.
“Tell you what, exactly?” she huffs. “That Jarvis and our label came up with some diabolical PR stunt and didn’t bother informing me?”
My heart stutters in my chest.
“Wait. So you’re not actually engaged to Jarvis?”
She still looks like she’s stuck at a red light as she parks a fist on her hip. “After all our time together, do you not know me at all? How could you think I would marry him after everything that’s happened? And not even tell one of my closest friends?”
“I’m one of your closest friends?”
“Duh.”
I’m one of her closest friends.
“Closest” is good. “Friends” is… not. Still, she isn’t marrying that asshole, which beats getting friend-zoned any day.
“Thank god,” I mumble, sinking back against the couch.
She puffs out a breath and mirrors my position, which leaves us slouching against the cushion and staring at the roof of the bus. By the feel of her heat and smell of her expensive perfume, we must be close but I’m afraid to look. If I move, I might break the spell, and this brief respite from hell is quite refreshing.
“Fudge on a stick, Val,” she says after a long pause.
“Is that an almond flavor too?”
“No. It’s a verbal smack on the arm. I can’t believe you actually thought I’d marry him. Why did you think I called you here?”
“To smooth things over.”
“No,” she draws out. “I messaged you because you’re one of the smartest, most strategic people I know and I need you to talk this through with me and help figure it out. Plus, you’re one of the few people I trust.”
Wow.
I finally turn my head and immediately regret it. She’s even closer than I thought. Crystal blue eyes lock on mine, screaming something in the tense silence, but it can’t be what I want it to be. How could it? Every muscle in my body tightens. Blood pounds in my veins.
“How?” she whispers, searching my eyes. “How could you think for even a second that I’d choose him when…”
“When what?” I return hoarsely, my heart thudding in my chest.
Her gaze is pleading as she reaches up and brushes the small X tattoo near my eye.
“When you’re right in front of me.”
Words evaporate from my brain. Everything… just… gone.
“Larinda…”
She pulls her hand away, leaving that spot burning from her touch. “Sorry. I know you don’t see me like that, but…” Her eyes seek mine again. “I’m falling hard for you, Val. I have been for a while. I promise it won’t affect our?—”
I cut her off with a kiss.
Her gasp becomes a moan as she grips my shirt and drags me closer. Her soft lips surrender to mine, igniting a fire that’s been simmering inside me for months. My fingers thread into her hair. Hers clutch my shirt like she can’t get enough. Our hesitant kiss becomes urgent, and she climbs onto my lap to straddle me.
She sinks down hard, sliding glorious friction over my zipper before settling achingly deep in a tempting invitation. We resume the kiss, her hips grinding in small, targeted movements I feel everywhere. Pent-up longing fuels each probing kiss and greedy caress. The way she claws at my shirt and sinks her fingertips into my shoulders exposes how long she’s been craving this as well.
She yanks off my hat and grasps my hair in a firm hold. The slight burn of her grip fuels the fire as my palms slide down her back and cup her ass in a long-held fantasy come to life.
Damn, this is… I can’t even think straight, but I never want it to end. She tastes like ecstasy, feels like a dream.
Our kisses grow fierce. Months of suppressed hunger surge out in an animalistic need to touch and consume every part of the other. She uses her grasp on my hair to wrench us together, again and again, her hips grazing mine and firing hot streaks with each collision. She seems just as insatiable, clutching and writhing to the rhythm of our violent lips and tongues until…
“Wait!” she gasps, pulling back.
Our heavy breathing fills the charged air around us. My heart still pounds scorching blood through my entire body. Her grip anchors us together.
“I… I’m sorry,” I say, not sure what I did wrong.
She frowns, and my fear dissolves when she brushes a soft kiss on my lips.
“No apologizing,” she says before straightening again, still on my lap.
Her fingers glide over my cheek as she searches my gaze.
“You have the prettiest eyes,” she whispers. “I’ve thought that since the first time I saw you that day Nash brought you to the studio.”
“Thanks?” I mumble, not sure where this is going. What just happened? What’s about to happen?
Her dejected sigh can’t be a good sign. Neither is the way she seems to fight herself before dropping her hand.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” she says quietly. “So long. I, uh, kind of fantasize about you… a lot.”
A pink tint spreads over her skin as her teeth sink into her lip.
Well, damn.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time, too,” I say. “And also fantasizing,” I add with a smile. Plenty of that.
She returns it, looking shy as she drags her fingertips along my jaw. Over my lips. Back into my hair for a light tug. It’s like she can’t stop touching me. She wants to stop, she just can’t. I know exactly how she feels. It’s why my palms are still running up and down her thighs in slow, steady strokes.
Is this really happening? Or am I actually asleep on the bus and Chad is about to wake me up with his weird morning mantra that’s supposed to… well, I don’t know, exactly.
“Today is the first day of today. Today is the first day of today.”
“I wondered if you did,” she says softly. “I hoped you felt the same way, but…”
But. No one likes “but” except after the phrase, we thought they were dead.
“I really like you, Val. Obviously,” she says with a nervous laugh.
But…
“But this can’t happen.”
I brace through the blow. Apparently, expecting it did nothing to soothe the sting.
“Right. Yeah, of course,” I say. Somehow I even manage a weak smile. “You’re a huge celebrity, and I’m?—”
“An amazing human being anyone would be honored to date. Stop that,” she says with a hard look.
Now I’m really confused.
“You’re so special, Val. If anything, it’s me who doesn’t deserve you. I like you so much, it’s just …”
Did she take a class on how to shred a guy’s heart?
“Be sure to make it slow and painful. Drag it out as long as possible and include just enough false hope to make it especially soul-crushing.”
This woman is acing it.
“It’s because of DJ Master Klau$!” she blurts out.
Huh. Okay. Didn’t see that coming.
I have no idea how to respond to that.
“It was this tiny little thing forever ago where he produced my album, then we broke up, then he sued, then the label had to settle, then the album sort of… didn’t happen. Anyway, the details aren’t important. What’s important is that I’m not allowed to date my producers anymore.”
I stare at her.
Still staring.
“Say something,” she says, biting her lip. Blue-glass eyes blink back at me with a hint of apprehension.
Say something? I don’t even understand what’s happening.
“You’re not allowed? What does that mean? Whose rule is that?”
“The label.”
“Any producer?”
“No. Just the ones I’m working with.”
“So… me. I’m the only person on this planet you’re ‘not allowed’ to date.”
“Yes. Pretty much.”
“Great,” I mumble.
She sighs and pushes off my lap to take the seat beside me again.
“And this is in writing? Is that even legal?”
“Not in writing, but you know how it is.”
I don’t, apparently.
“The point is, I really like you. Like, a lot, but we can’t be together for a bunch of reasons.”
“I see.”
I don’t really. I just don’t know what else to say. What can I say? I suspected from the beginning I didn’t have a chance with her, I just couldn’t have guessed the reason why.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “Do you hate me now?”
“Hate you?” I ask, squinting over at her. “Why would I hate you?”
“Because I’m a femme fatale.”
I snort a laugh. Can’t help it. She glares at me.
“What, you don’t think I could be one?”
“No.”
She crosses her arms. “I could!”
“Really,” I say, making no attempt to hide my skepticism.
Her eyes narrow further. “Yes. I absolutely could.”
Does she even know what that is?
“So you go around seducing people in order to put them in dangerous situations and immanent peril?”
“What? No! Ew.”
I grin, and she smacks my chest.
“Don’t be sassy,” she quips. “The point is, I want you, but I can’t have you, so that’s what it is. If we’re caught in any kind of relationship, the label won’t let us work together anymore—or worse—and I need you. My music needs you, so, I guess…”
She waves over her hips.
I don’t know what that means.
“We need to wear belts?”
“We need to keep it in our pants.”
Ah. Right.
Another smile flickers over my lips.
Femme fatale, my ass. She’s every literary archetype except that one. Actually no. She’s just a straight-up mythical goddess. How else would she get me to smile even while she’s crushing my heart?
“So that’s it, then?” I ask after a long silence.
She looks how I feel as she deflates against the couch, back to where we started.
“I guess so,” she sighs out.
“Do you feel like shit right now?” I ask. She snaps a look to me, and I soften the comment with a weak smile. “Because I do. Wanting what you can’t have sucks.”
“Yeah, it really does.” Her frown lifts as something works through her head. “Actually, I would go as far as to say ‘wanting what you can’t have doesn’t count in the game of love,’” she sings.
“Damn. How long have you been sitting on that melody?”
“Since the meeting this morning. You want to play with it?”
“Hell yeah. I’ll grab my laptop. Meet you back here in ten?”
She nods and grabs my fingers as I push to my feet.
“Val?”
“Yeah?”
“If I could, I would.”
I clench my jaw and force a nod as she lets go.